A World Without Heroes
by julips
Summary: In the waning days of GI Joe, a new diabolical plan surfaces.  Rated M for who knows what will come. F & LJ main, but a deliberate attempt at an ensemble.
1. Chapter 1

I'm doing something I never wanted to do, but figured it would spur me on to write more. I'm publishing the first chapter of an epic tale that is nowhere close to completion. But, I'm well on my way, I suppose, and will try and keep things going. Please be patient. Time is a luxury we can't all afford. No beta. Please note, some chapters will be short. Very short.

Also note, sometimes, creative license will occur. I'm drawing on both cartoon and comics here. And sometimes things may not be correct. I still don't even know where exactly the PIT is….. But I'm trying to get it all right, and when I don't, forgive me.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Have fun. I am.

**A World Without Heroes.**

Piles upon piles of paperwork littered the soldier's desk, with a deadline that kept him frustrated and unhappy. With a sigh, he set down his pen and raked his hands down his face, willing his tension to wash away. It didn't help that he couldn't stay focused. He'd be leaving in the morning for New York, as part of some sort of good will recruiting mission.

In short, he was chosen as one of the poster boys for a junior ROTC demonstration. Some higher up paying back a favor, no doubt, and he, Scarlett, Lifeline, and Roadblock were the pawns by which the debt would be paid. How Duke managed to wriggle out of this one, he'd never know.

Leaning back in his chair, he glanced at his computer screen. He reached over to the mouse and clicked "save," deciding to head out to see if he could scrounge up something to eat before resuming his tasks. He was about to rise from behind his desk when a knock on his office door stopped him.

"Come in," he called, reclaiming his pen again in an attempt to look like he hadn't just made the decision to leave his paperwork. He scribbled something unintelligible on the notepad that rested next to his mouse, so that whoever entered would undoubtedly think he wasn't taking a break.

The door opened slowly, and a young woman clad in green fatigues walked in carrying a paper sack. "Thought you could use a break," she said, holding up the bag and closing the door behind her. "I brought us dinner."

He couldn't help the smile that flashed across his face. Things had been going well between the two of them, so well that the occasional knock down blow out fights they were famous for had, for the most part, faded, and casual conversation between the two was occasionally speckled with comments regarding a future together.

"You read my mind," he answered, rising from his chair. He walked out from around the desk and stood in front of her, watching her closely and the way her eyes danced with a hint of humor. Without taking his eyes off her, he took the paper bag from her and set it on his desk. Brushing away a lock of hair from her face, his smile faded. "I'm sorry Al."

He hadn't expected the small laugh that escaped from her lips. "For what Dash? It's just dinner."

A small smile crossed his face as he stepped away from her. He cast a glance at the discarded paper bag and casually made his way back around his desk, reclaiming the chair. Catching her eyes again, he picked up his pen. "This isn't the way I'd wanted to spend the evening with you."

"Well," she said, following the path he just walked. With a sly grin, she made a move to straddle his lap, placing her arms around his neck, massaging lightly.

Instinctively, he dropped his pen and scooted forward to oblige her so she wouldn't be hampered by the armrests. Flint brought his hands up to run along the length of her thighs, finally coming to rest on her hips. He hid his surprise at her boldness well, though he knew such a characteristic should never surprise him, especially coming from her.

Quietly she pulled his beret off and discarded it onto the desk. She brushed her fingers through his hair. "You were looking to take a break, weren't you?" she whispered softly. Without waiting for a response, she planted a passionate kiss on his lips.

He responded in kind, bringing his hands up to roam her back and lightly massage the body that rested just beneath her heavy shirt.

A slight guttural moan caught in her throat and prompted him to become more aggressive. Cupping his hands beneath her buttocks, he rose from the chair and, carrying her with him, he placed her sitting on the desk so that he stood between her legs. His hands roamed to her sides and began untucking her shirt.

The phone rang, disrupting his task. Breaking from the kissing, he muttered a "Dammit," and reached for the phone. "Flint," he answered, stepping away from Lady Jaye. He furrowed his brows to convey to her his frustration at being interrupted.

She merely chuckled and diverted her attention while he attended to the phone call.

"No Duke, I haven't finished the report yet." Pause. "They what?" Pause. Flint sighed and turned away from Lady Jaye. He ran his free hand through his hair. "Alright, I'll have it ready in an hour."

He hung up the phone and turned to face Lady Jaye. "What time do you have to leave in the morning?"

Lady Jaye slid off the desk and proceeded to fix her shirt. "I have to be on the tarmac at 0500 hours."

Flint frowned. That meant she'd have to be up and awake much earlier than that. "Duke's coming by in an hour to pick up the report," he said, gesturing to the piles of paperwork on his desk. He'd need more time than an hour to get through it all, but he knew if he had any chance of even trying to fake it, Lady Jaye would have to leave. In the field, the Joes were ruthless. Who knew that paperwork would be their downfall?

Smiling slightly, Lady Jaye nodded in understanding. "I'll leave you to it then."

"Al," he called, as she turned toward the door. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it Dash," she said, brushing her hand through the air dismissively. "If you get done early, stop by. And bring the turkey sandwiches."

He watched as she walked out of his office, both of them knowing that somehow Duke would wind up tying him up all evening. With a frown, he returned to his desk and picked up his pen again, casting his eyes back to the computer monitor.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the reviews!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Have fun. I do.

Inspiration and influence comes from the cartoon and comics, and I'm sure, some characterization has come in earlier fan fic. If anything seems a blatant rip, I apologize, and in turn, am also thankful for the stories that have come before.

….

….**A World Without Heroes, Chapter 2**….

Time is a precious asset, constant, yet fickle. That fickleness is only heightened by the daily regimen of an elite counter-terrorism military force. Yet while the demands were stressful, each member of the G.I. Joe team willingly sacrificed the precious commodity in the pursuit of a greater good. They'd all made sacrifices to make it to the top. And they'd all lost people along the way, through battles waged in the field or battles waged in the soul.

No matter what endeavor he undertook, Flint was always of one mindset. Play hard, work harder. It was a mindset that lent itself well to his chosen career in the military; play hard, fight harder. He prided himself on his abilities as a soldier, rapidly making the ascent to the upper echelons of the military. He was among the best of the best, and in combining a mind that made him their best tactician with a ferocity that made him a valuable soldier, he'd become one of their most respected leaders.

And yet….it was the battle of the soul that took Flint by surprise. In the battlefield, he was able to bend time to his will, knowing that patience could determine the outcome of the fight, or that pressing an advantage even in a weakened state could secure a needed victory. Away from the battlefield, however, he was surprised to find that he often wondered if time simply wouldn't just….slip away.

He was at a crossroads. All of them were. Officials in the Pentagon were currently debating whether G. I. Joe was still a necessity, and their futures were all in some sort of limbo, frozen in time. The tactician in him knew that all points converged here, swiveling on some seemingly random decision of militaristic planning that didn't take into account the lives dedicated to the cause. But if there was one thing he'd learned, it was that time waits for no one. Either grab the bull by the horns with what you've got, or let it slide on by. And in his line of work, when away from the actual field of battle, letting time slide by wasn't an option.

In these crossroads, it was the ease in which he found himself wanting to make his relationship with Lady Jaye work that both unnerved Flint, and simultaneously made him think outside the boundaries of military life. He didn't know when it happened, he only knew that it did. Time was precious, and they'd always taken advantage of whatever time they had together. But as time doted along, granting the two of them rendezvous after rendezvous after all they've been through as soldiers and now tickling the "what-ifs" in his mind, he knew he wanted her to be a part of his future, no matter what it held. He simply couldn't imagine life without this woman by his side. This was the battle of his soul, knowing that there was something else well worth the fight, someone else worth fighting for. Flint refused to give the Pentagon the power to make the decision for him, but he just wasn't entirely sure what to do about it.

Many in G. I. Joe knew about the situation. A decision was imminent, General Hawk had said in the latest briefing, but no one new exactly how the brass would lean. So the unit carried on with routine missions, for no one quite knew what was in store. The part of Flint that dabbled in denial was thankful for that, yet as he strolled through the nearly empty hallways of the PIT, he couldn't help but wonder if Lady Jaye's thoughts traveled the same line as his. For as arrogant as he could be, this was one realm where he held much insecurity, though he'd be loathe to admit it.

And so it was that he found himself in front of the quarters Lady Jaye shared with Scarlett at such a late hour. It wasn't often he and Jaye were shipped out on different missions on the same day, but neither ever knew when time would simply run out. Even though they were both headed for minor missions, he knew he didn't want to leave without saying goodbye. Habit, maybe, but Flint knew it was more than that.

He smiled slightly, remembering her tirade when she found out her orders. It was nothing more than a routine survival-training mission, but she'd be stuck with Beachhead and Shipwreck in the middle of the desert.

"Look on the bright side, Al," Flint had told her. "At least Shipwreck's not bringing Polly."

Rightfully, she had smacked him in the head with her pillow after that comment.

Bringing himself back to the present, Flint rapped slightly on the door to the living quarters, only to find no answer. He wasn't surprised. Pulling out the key Lady Jaye had recently given him, he unlocked the door and quietly slipped inside the darkened room and made his way to her bedroom.

He nearly tripped over the packed gear she had set just inside her bedroom door. Finally, he reached the bed and quietly sat beside the sleeping figure. He sat watching her for a few minutes and brushed aside a lock of hair that had fallen into her eyes, before deciding he'd best be on his way. Leaning down to place a soft kiss on her forehead, he froze as she stirred.

"Dash?" she asked sleepily.

"It's me, sweetheart," he answered softly, straightening slightly.

"Good," she murmured, turning over to her side. "Take off your shoes before getting in."

He smiled at her demand, wondering if she was fully aware of herself or caught somewhere between the dreamworld and lucidity. With a shrug, he decided he really didn't care. Taking off his shoes and emptying his pockets, he climbed in under the covers beside her, and wrapped his arms around her.

Immediately, she snuggled into his embrace. "That's better," she mumbled before drifting off again.

This, he thought to himself with a soft smile, is what he wanted. He placed a soft kiss on her forehead. Everything else, he thought, be damned.


	3. Chapter 3

**A World Without Heroes, Chapter 3**

The alarm clock sounded much too early for the slumbering soldiers. A hand snaked out from under the covers and slammed down hard on the snooze button, but the damage had already been done. In the Army, you learned to rise when you're called, no matter who or what was doing the calling. With a yawn, Lady Jaye pushed the covers back from her face and stretched.

Another set of arms gently grabbed onto her as she began to rise from bed, pulling her back down. She turned over so that she faced him, his head barely above the covers. They shared a sleepy smile.

"What time did you get here?" she asked, knowing now that it wasn't a dream.

"Around one o'clock." Two hours ago.

"I'm glad you did."

"I wasn't sure you'd remember," he said, a sleepy twinkle in his eyes.

"It would have been a good dream," she responded.

He chuckled softly and pulled her close, kissing her gently. "I could get used to this."

Her only response was a muffled "Mmm," as she kissed him again. When the kiss broke, they lay there facing each other for some time, just watching each other. "I have to put the coffee on," Lady Jaye said finally.

Reluctantly, Flint let her go. He watched her as she turned the snooze alarm off and slid across the room, shaking the sleep from her limbs. He closed his eyes again, and before he knew it, he was fast asleep.

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><p>She hated waking him, but like him, she didn't want to leave without saying goodbye. Sitting on the bed next to his slumbering form, she finally pulled the covers back from his face and brushed her hand across his cheek.<p>

"Dash," she said quietly.

He mumbled something unintelligible, and she tried again.

"Dash?"

"What time is it?" he finally managed to ask.

"4:30. I have to go. Stay in bed, I'll leave a note for Red."

Flint smacked his lips once before finally opening his eyes. "Alright," he agreed. Even though the Joes bent fraternization rules, he knew he shouldn't see her off at such an early hour. If Beachhead even suspected that she'd been up all night right before a survival mission, the ruthless training guru would find it cause to be extra hard on her.

She gave him a soft kiss before picking up her gear.

"Good luck, Jaye," he mumbled before she walked out the door.

"You too, poster-boy," she quipped back, knowing all too well where he would be going in the next few hours.

She watched him from the door as he turned back under the covers. Smiling softly to herself, she picked up her gear bag and left her room. After leaving a note for Scarlett that her bedroom was still occupied, she made her way out to the tarmac.


	4. Chapter 4

**A World Without Heroes, Chapter 4**

The sun wouldn't rise for another ninety minutes, but the tarmac was already bustling with activity. Wild Bill had the chopper ready and waiting by the time Lady Jaye made it to the airstrip, and Beachhead was busy checking over the parachutes the three would be using.

"Beautiful morning for a flight!" Wild Bill hollered good-naturedly as Lady Jaye set her gear bag down.

She responded with a casual smile and slight wave in greeting, and looked around for the absent Shipwreck. Glancing at her watch, she grimaced, noting he had three minutes to make an appearance. Beachhead would punish them both if either was late.

As if he read her mind, Beachhead placed his hands on his hips in annoyance at the sailor's lack of appearance. With a small huff, he watched as Shipwreck came barreling through the door and ran up to greet the three waiting for him.

"You're late," Beachhead barked, picking up his own gear bag and stalking off to stow it in the helicopter. Why Hawk decided everyone needed desert survival training, including sailors, was beyond him. And why _he_ had to lead it rather than their resident desert jockey, Dusty, was also beyond him. Beachhead figured Lady Jaye's propensity for adaptability meant she'd pass muster, but he had his doubts about the squid. He had finally convinced himself that Hawk really wanted to push the limits on both he and Jaye.

"Nah, I got," Shipwreck said, glancing at his watch, trying to catch his breath. "Thirty seconds."

"Grab your gear," Beachhead shouted, returning from the helicopter. "Let's get a move on."

Lady Jaye glanced askance at the sailor and noticed Polly sitting firmly on his shoulder. "Thought you were leaving that thing behind," she muttered, picking up her gear.

Shipwreck followed suit. "Alpine had second thoughts."

"Wonder why," she muttered, climbing into the chopper. This was going to be a long week. Catching a glance at Beachhead already seated in the corner, she decided it wasn't really going to be a long week. It was going to be a _very_ long week.


	5. Chapter 5

**A World Without Heroes, Chapter 5**

.

In the wee hours of the morning, a scientist worked hard in his laboratory, knowing the pressures of his bosses to be squarely upon his shoulders. It didn't help that some were more patient than others and that some were hovering over his shoulders at this very moment. Pausing in his labor, the most meticulous moment of the procedure yet, the scientist wiped the sweat from his brow.

The fall of his commander's boots could be heard coming down the corridor. The four bystanders shifted in their positions, waiting for the arrival of the one who's questions and patience, or impatience as the case was here, somehow mattered most.

"Any progress, Mindbender?" Cobra Commander asked entering the laboratory, drawing out the hiss in his s's longer than usual.

The woman in the room sighed in exasperation and cast a meaningful look toward her companion.

"He'd move much faster," Destro boomed, catching the Baroness' glance. "If you weren't constantly checking up on him, my dear Commander."

"My dear Destro," Cobra Commander mocked. "He'd do much better if you four weren't hovering over his EVERY STEP!"

"Someone has to," Tamox said, not looking up.

His twin brother finished for him. "Watch the progress."

"Enough!" Mindbender shouted before huddling down into the contraption again. "It will be ready soon."

Cobra Commander's impatience was legendary. "How soon?"

"Another hour or two." Or three, he thought, rolling his eyes. Maybe four.

Eyeing the contraption as if he had any sense as to the machinations within, Cobra Commander nodded beneath his hood. "Good. And the duplicates?"

Dr. Mindbender sighed. "Once the first device is complete, replicating it is only a matter of time. The modifications, slightly longer."

"Good," the Commander repeated. "Keep me apprised of your progress."

With another roll of his eyes, Dr. Mindbender set back to work. The same questions as the last time, but at least this time he had some progress to report. Soon enough, the device would be complete, and the duplicates ready. After that, well, Mindbender chuckled to himself, it would be a miracle if Cobra Commander didn't find a way to screw everything up himself.

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><p><strong>Author<strong>**'****s ****Note:** I was concerned that if I took too long for updates that everything would be just the Flint/Lady Jaye set up for a very long time, so I wanted to let everyone know that yes, there most certainly is a diabolical plan in place. I had mentioned previously that this would move slowly, and so it shall. A few chapters have been uploaded, but now, it might be a little while. Also, as previously mentioned, chapters can tend to be short. It happens. No beta. Please read and review if it floats your boat, all constructive criticism and positive reinforcement is welcome and appreciated. Thanks!


	6. Chapter 6

The helicopter ride to the drop zone was uneventful, and Lady Jaye found herself thinking about her relationship with Flint. She loved him, that much she knew, but she also knew that she'd never given any indication that she was ready and willing to take the next step. Regardless, slowly but surely, the previously commitment-phobic warrant officer turned the tables on her, and she found herself deflecting the questions and comments he occasionally made about their future. He was none the wiser, or so she thought, but she knew that at some point, something or someone was going to have to give.

But although Lady Jaye lived a life of espionage and personal risk that came with being an elite soldier, Alison Hart-Burnett was rather practical when it came to matters of her personal life. As much as she wanted to give Flint, Dashiell Fairborn, the world, the practical side of her worried about their careers. True, she'd taken that risk when she chose to enter a relationship with him, but this…this was another thing entirely. A conscious decision to meld their worlds of personal and professional would have consequences that the military was unlikely to continue to ignore. Neither she as Alison, nor she as Lady Jaye, was sure she was ready to face that yet.

When it came right down to it, it was a difficult situation, and any answers were proving hard to come by. And, like the good Hart-Burnett that she was, at least genetically, she chose avoidance of the issue, rather than to talk it out and lay all her cards on the table. Still, the Joes hadn't seen hide nor hair of Cobra for a while now, and she idly wondered if a decision would be made for her.

Lost in her thoughts, it wasn't until Beachhead began snapping his fingers in front of her that she realized they were nearing the drop zone.

"Lady Jaye!" Beachead barked, once he knew he had her attention. He leaned over into her face. "This is a survival mission! You must be on guard at all times! Now get your gear and get your pack. You're out first!"

With a sigh, Lady Jaye rose from her spot and checked the clips on her parachute pack and her gear. Pushing her fear of heights to the back of her mind, and with a great ol' heave and a hollar from Wild Bill, she threw herself out the open door, pulling her chute at just the right time. Glancing up, she saw Shipwreck and Beachhead do the same. As she landed in the barren desert, hot even before the sun cast its first rays over the land, she thought about the vacation time she knew was coming to her.

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><p><strong>AN**: I wish I could say I've been writing all this time, but alas, such is not the case. That said, this chapter was pretty much ready, so here you go. I'm still working through some things further down the line in the story...well, a lot of things...but I figured this little update couldn't hurt.


	7. Chapter 7

General Hawk had insisted that the good-will mission to New York be kept low profile. That meant a commercial flight for the four Joes in civilian clothes, and certainly not first class. Flint groaned as he tried once again to adjust his seat, cursing the coach seats that ill afforded him leg room. He tried not to think about poor Roadblock a few seats away from him. That man's massive size made several other passengers wary, but Flint knew the giant teddy bear was more uncomfortable than him, ten-fold. He was thankful Lifeline had the seat next to Roadblock.

Scarlett snickered next to Flint, noticing the Warrant Officer's discomfort. "We'll be there shortly, big guy," she said with a wink.

Flint merely glared at her.

The red-head shot him a grin and set her cup of ginger ale on the tray in front of her. "So," she began, turning in her seat as much as she could to face him. "You and Allie have a good time last night?"

Leaning his head back on the headrest, Flint sighed. Scarlett would never stop teasing either of them about their relationship, but he imagined she got a lot more fun out of teasing him than she did Jaye. Casting a glance in her direction, he decided to start his own assault. "Tell me Red," he said, "how do you feel about your boy making you take this trip while declining to join you, hm?" He raised his eyebrows to drive the point home. "He is, afterall," he added, twisting the screw, "the poster-boy himself."

Scarlett frowned and crossed her arms over her chest, turning back to face the front of the plane again. "I don't know," she said dismissively. "Said he had some top secret something or other to attend to in San Francisco."

Flint set his head back on the head rest, and closed his eyes. "Uh huh."

Shrugging, Scarlett noticed the approach of the flight attendant and picked up her now empty cup to hand to the woman as she made her way down the isle. "Doesn't matter anyway," she said, tossing the cup in the plastic garbage sack. "We both have some time coming to us in a few weeks."

Flint smiled, more to himself than anything else, thinking about the time he had coming to him as well. Knowing it coincided with Jaye's time off, he couldn't help but to smile fully, a hidden plan formulating in his mind to do some shopping while in New York. "Don't we all Red, don't we all."

The fasten seat-belt sign flickered, and the announcement came over the PA system that the pilots were ready to begin their descent. In a few short moments, the foursome would be whisked away to some inner city school to demonstrate what it meant to be the best of the best in the United States military.

Flint sighed again, wondering what in god's name Duke had to do that was so important in San Francisco.

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><p><strong>AN**: Note to self: It's a lot harder to keep the timeline straight when there's gaps between writing and posting and writing again. If you notice something out of whack, please do let me know and I'll try to rectify it. Thanks! The good news, however, is that I've actually written something new for this story, to be inserted later. Hoorah!


	8. Plotting and Planning

**A World Without Heroes, Chapter 8: Plotting and Planning.**

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><p>"It is ready," Mindbender uttered, slowly straightening from his task. The comment was more for his own tired benefit, but he felt a collective sigh around him as the others in the room began shifting at the announcement.<p>

"We shall," Tomax started.

Xamot finished, "tell the Commander."

As they left the room, Destro and the Baroness shared a knowing smile. For all of Destro's arms research and work, the masked man had to admit this was a stroke of genius. If it worked.

"How soon until it can be duplicated?" Destro asked the Doctor.

Mindbender sighed and cast Destro a weary look. "Soon," he answered noncommittally. "But our good Commander will no doubt want to test it first."

"Yesss," the Commander said, quickly making his way into the room, followed closely by the Crimson twins. He clasped his hands together in delight, the silver mask hiding his face. "We will test it immediately," he said. "I already have a target picked out."

Cobra Commander punched a few buttons on a nearby console, and an LED map of the United States lit up on a screen behind the conspirators. "What do you say, hmmm? Somewhere in middle America?" A small red dot appeared over Omaha, Nebraska.

A slow, guttural chuckle escaped Destro's throat. "Perfect," he said, pleased with the Commander's choice. "Large enough to gage its effectiveness, but small enough to be considered a random anomaly."

"Mindbender," Cobra Commander called, ignoring Destro's comment. "Start work on the duplicates and the planned modifications. Once we know the device works, I'll want to deploy the others immediately."

Again, Dr. Mindbender sighed. "Yes, Commander," he replied, cleaning up the various tools littered about the worktable.

With an air of satisfaction, Cobra Commander placed his hands on his hips and eyed the device hungrily. His moment of triumph was close at hand, and he could almost taste it through the metallic gleam of his ever-present mask. He would have to polish it again soon. "Baroness," he called to the lone woman amongst the group.

"Yes, Commander?" the Baroness responded, turning her eyes to their masked leader. Even if she couldn't see his face, she knew he was nearly salivating.

Cobra Commander turned his eyes from the device and ran his hidden eyes up and down the black-clad form before him. His voice was sensitive, appreciative. "Brief your team, then work with Mindbender on the modifications. Your undersssstanding of them," he hissed, "is critical to our success."

A sly grin crossed the woman's face, pleased at being such an instrumental part of the plan. "Yes, Commander," she replied.


	9. San Francisco

**A World Without Heroes, Chapter 9: San Francisco.**

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><p>On an island off the shores of San Francisco, the blonde G.I. Joe leader sighed. It was an island well known as a former prison, and historically, the home of various military bases and a Native American occupation. Currently, it was a National Park, where tourists ferried over and viewed the rows of cells, gawking at the conditions some of the worst criminals the United States had ever seen spent many of their incarcerated years.<p>

Deep in the recesses of the island though, behind the ranger's office and below the cells, an elevator rose from a secret underground bunker, carrying a First Sergeant and a General.

"It's really the best option," the General said to Duke as the elevator came to a stop.

Duke cast a weary glance to the General, and again sighed. He then watched as the metallic doors of the elevator slid open. "General McNally," he said finally, pausing after stepping out of the elevator. "I can certainly appreciate the offer, but any kind of agreement on my part seals the fate of my team. I'm sure you can see that."

General Sam McNally acknowledged the statement with a slight tilt of his head. "On the other hand, Duke," he said after a minute as the two walked down the corridor back to the ranger's office. "If the Joint Chiefs decide to shutter G.I. Joe, then you'll be left with nothing. This could be viewed as an acceptable compromise."

Duke nodded thoughtfully. The pride of G.I. Joe was preparation, and the ability to come out on top no matter the odds. In many ways, he felt he owed it to his team to be prepared to salvage what he could, who he could, before what many saw as the inevitable actually happened.

He was here with General Hawk's blessing that came in the form of a firm slap on the back from the chief officer of G.I. Joe. While some knew he was going to San Francisco, only Hawk knew why. Duke had already seen some of the nearby airfields, which would house enough jets, planes, and helicopters in case they ever needed them. But this was an _island_. Sure, it had depths not many had thought about before. But Duke wasn't quite ready to accept what was being offered.

"If G.I. Joe is decommissioned," General McNally said, breaking Duke from his thoughts as they entered the ranger's office. The General poured them both a cup of stale coffee. "There's nothing to say it couldn't continue to exist as a skeleton crew, here."

Taking the offered styrofoam cup from the General, Duke walked over to the window of the room and cast his glance over the dark, foggy bay. The last of the day's visitors to Alcatraz were loading onto the ferry for their return trip, and General McNally waited patiently while Duke considered his options.

The General took a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving Duke. "I tell you what, Hauser," he said after a minute. "Think about it. Talk to Abernathy. Give me a call in a few days."

Duke quietly acknowledged General McNally's issuance of a grace period. "I appreciate that, General," he said finally, turning his attention back to the man. "I hope you can understand the gravity of the situation."

"That I do," General McNally said, giving Duke a friendly slap on the back. The two of them turned to watch as the last ferry disembarked to return to the dock at Fisherman's Wharf. "That I do," he repeated.


	10. Meanwhile, in Death Valley…

**A World Without Heroes, Chapter 10: Meanwhile, in Death Valley…**

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><p>"We'll set up camp here," Beachhead called to his two companions. "Hpmh," he muttered. He wasn't altogether unhappy with their progress, but Shipwreck's lackadaisical attitude was getting on his last nerves, nevermind that damned bird. He spared a glance toward Lady Jaye, who had stopped the hike at his call. The soldier had set the pace for their hike, but it was clear to him that her mind was not on the mission.<p>

Peeling his pack from his sweaty body, Shipwreck grinned. "Hear that, Polly?" he said, holding up a small cracker from the package he kept in his pocket. He smiled as the bird took it. "It's time for some ghost stories."

Lady Jaye sighed in annoyance at her comrade. Turning around, she started to retrace her steps the few yards it took to rejoin her mates. Setting her pack on the ground, she pulled up her canteen and took a sip, while her eyes scanned the mostly barren desert around her, her eyes catching on the ridgeline and various oases that littered the sand. "Never understood why Dusty felt so at home here," she muttered, before taking another sip.

Beachhead eyed his soldiers warily. "Lady Jaye," he said, trying to keep his voice from an actual bark. "See if you can find us some kindling. Shipwreck," he added, a little more harshly. "See if you can find us some wood."

"A fire?" Shipwreck asked incredulously. "It's still a hundred degrees out here!"

Beachhead squinted his eyes in annoyance at the sailor, then turned his glance to the Western horizon. "When that sun goes down, Shipwreck," he said, indicating the sweat they were all covered in, "you'll want that fire."

Sighing, Shipwreck muttered a few choice words, but did as he was told. "I dunno where we're gonna find some wood out here," he said to Polly, "but see what you can find, girl." The parrot flew off his shoulder, as if the creature understood exactly what Shipwreck said.

The Ranger shook his head and set about creating a fire pit. For all he knew, the parrot actually _did_ understand.

Before long, Lady Jaye returned with some kindling, and Shipwreck had gathered a small amount of wood. The sailor set off to find some more, and Lady Jaye set about starting a fire in the pit Beachhead had made. Eventually, the three settled around the fire and silently ate their MREs.


	11. Citizens Flee Omaha

**A World Without Heroes, Chapter 11: Citizens Flee Omaha.**

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

* * *

><p>The small bar in New York City was quaint. Flint had found it while wandering around after their demonstration the day before, and decided it was a good enough spot for a bit of a relaxed debriefing. The demonstration was mostly uneventful, though the Warrant Officer found himself both groaning and chuckling inwardly when they realized it wasn't just for Junior ROTC. Despite Hawk's insistence that the mission be kept low-profile, the whole school had apparently assembled for the presentations, with some parents even in attendance.<p>

Afterwards, Flint decided to give the team some R & R until they made the trip back to base. It was the least he could do as their commanding officer on this joke of a mission. As they convened that night in the hotel, he told the three of them about the bar and set the debrief for 1800 the next day. They'd be in uniform, but it was still a respite from the daily grind of life on base.

That is how he found himself amongst Lifeline, Scarlett, and Roadblock, sitting at a booth at the small bar, the three of them talking animatedly about their various exploits in the city. Flint sat studying the menu as if he hadn't been there just the day before, waiting patiently for their drinks, and for the conversation to die down.

"They expected people like me and Flint," Roadblock said, glancing at the waitress in thanks as she placed the drinks on the table. "But you two," he said with a chuckle, gesturing toward Scarlett and Lifeline. "I don't think they expected that," he said, taking a sip from his fresh drink.

Scarlett laughed in agreement. "Did you hear them when I threw you to the ground?" she said, glancing at Flint. "And a pacifist?" she laughed again. "Who knew?"

Flint cast a good-natured glance toward the redhead, a small smile toying at the edges of his mouth. They all knew the hand-to-hand demonstration was shortened for the benefit of time, but they also knew Scarlett would almost always wind up besting him in drills anyway. He set the menu down and placed his order. "Well, the best of the best," he said after the waitress walked away with all orders in hand. He picked up his pint glass, "has a lot to offer."

The three others picked up their various glasses. "Hear hear," they said, clinking them together in toast.

Flint let the others continue to chat while he scanned the newspaper he brought with him. They'd have plenty of time to debrief, he thought idly, thumbing through the pages. He tried to tell himself he wasn't looking for the jewelry ads, but it was a losing battle. Clearly, he was in denial, even though he knew it was what he wanted more than anything. Putting the plan into action was a little more intimidating than he originally thought. Flint had walked _to_ and _by_ a number of jewelers, but never actually made it _inside_ any of them. It was then that a curious headline caught his eye, and he began reading the article.

Suddenly, the glass all around them shattered.

"Everybody down!" Flint hollered. The team jumped to the floor, part in instinct, and part from Flint's shout. As quickly as the glass shattered, it stopped just the same. Then came the blue light, a flash of sorts.

After a moment, the dust began settling. Cautiously, Flint raised his head. "Everyone alright?" he asked quietly, glancing around at his teammates.

No one uttered a sound, but Flint caught visual confirmation from his team. Satisfied, he raised his head a little further and began scanning the rest of the bar. A smoky blue haze filled the air, and glass covered everything. He watched silently as some of the people around him gazed outside the bar and began walking mindlessly outdoors, broken glass crunching below their feet.

"Hey!" Flint called to one of the patrons walking toward the door.

The patron ignored him.

Flint hurriedly stood up. Brushing his hands on his pants, he rushed toward the patron. He grabbed the patron's arm, turning the man to face him. "Hey!" he called again, and again, he was ignored. The patron shook off Flint's hand, turned his gaze back outside, and continued out the door.

Roadblock, Scarlett, and Lifeline each stood up and made their way to Flint. "This ain't right," Roadblock said, watching as the majority of bar customers made their way out the door.

"No," Flint said, casting his eyes on the door. The smoky blue haze had begun to dissipate. "And it reeks of Cobra." Carefully he glanced around the rest of the bar. "Anybody home?" he called out.

Gradually, people began to rise from their positions. The waitress behind the bar, also their server. A couple of men who had been sitting on bar stools. An older couple in another booth. And others. Mentally, Flint ticked off the numbers and their previously held positions in the bar as various folks began rising from where they had previously sat.

One of the men who had been sitting on a bar stool approached Flint. "What the hell just happened?"

Flint set his jaw and picked up the newspaper article. "I don't know," he said after a minute. "But this may hold the answer."

"Citizens Flee Omaha," the headline said. "Terrorism Not Ruled Out."


	12. In San Francisco…

**A World Without Heroes, Chapter 12: In San Francisco…**

* * *

><p>The radios in the sparse room hidden from public view on Alcatraz sizzled with frantic chatter, breaking the nearly awkward silence. Duke and General Sam McNally both shot their eyes toward the radios, and, just as the chatter fizzled out, they quickly looked at each other.<p>

The two of them had returned to the offices on the island for one last look before Duke headed back to the PIT. It had been a day when very few tourists were visiting the island and none were left as the two sat contemplating the potential future use of the offices.

General McNally ran over to the radio. "Alcatraz to Mainland, over." He released the button on the radio. No response. "Alcatraz to Mainland, over," he repeated.

"I don't think you're going to get a response, General," Duke said, looking over the Bay. The city had gone dark, and he noticed planes in the dark sky deploying parachuted men to the ground. If that wasn't enough to cause alarm, the flight patterns were also inconsistent with the ones used by commercial planes. "Keep radio silence," he said after a minute, attempting to assess the situation from afar.

The General spared a grim look to Duke, silence falling over the two.

"Well, we have to do something," General McNally said after a minute, rushing over to the landline. Picking up the handset, he glanced at Duke in surprise as the First Sergeant slammed his hand down on the base. "Be a soldier for god's sake," the General yelled.

"What are you gonna do, General," Duke said sternly, though managing to keep his cool. "What can _we_ do," he asked, gesturing around him, "when what appears to be enemy planes flying all around us? Our best bet is to wait it out, and move in later." Duke held his hand out for the phone. "Any attempt at communication right now could announce our presence to them, and then we wouldn't be able to act at all."

Realization slowly sank into General McNally. Quietly, he nodded, and handed Duke the phone.


	13. Diabolical Diabolicness

**A World Without Heroes, Chapter 13: Diabolical Diabolicness.**

The LED map of the United States of America blinked furiously on the monitor, and a blue-clad figure sat in front of it, laughing maniacally.

A deep voice bellowed from behind the Commander. "I admit, I am impressed."

"Of course you are Destro," the Commander announced, turning in his swivel chair to meet the weapons-master's gaze. "The plan is a success!"

"Like lambs to the slaughter," the Baroness laughed. "Soon we will have an army the rest of the world would be foolish to oppose!"

"Come," the Commander said, rising from his chair. "Let us ensure the facilities are ready to house the new era of Cobra soldiers. And make sure you congratulate Dr. Mindbender when you see him," he added.

Xamot and Tomax eyed each other in disbelief, but followed the Commander.


	14. Of Penlights and Police

**Chapter 14: Of Penlights and Police**

* * *

><p>.<p>

The waitress from behind the bar slapped her dishrag on the counter. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded of Flint, noting his uniform and the way he had approached the wandering patron. She dismissed the newspaper article he'd previously held up for others to see, and failed to keep her confusion from coming through as anger.

With one serious glance, Flint assessed the barkeep. After a moment, he responded. "They call me Flint," he answered loudly so all could hear. "I'm a soldier. We all are," he said, glancing at his three friends. "Lifeline," he said quietly, issuing an order with a slight tilt of his head. The medic understood immediately, and rushed off to check the remaining customers. In much the same silent manner, he motioned for Roadblock and Scarlett to keep a lookout. Turning back to the barkeep, he asked about the emergency lighting. "Those plastic?"

The barkeep nodded, and Flint filed the information away in his sharp mind as potentially useful.

"Flint," Scarlett called out in a hushed tone, "We have a problem."

Flint cast his gaze over to the shattered windows, his eyes widening slightly as he caught the hint of flashlights roaming the now dark streets. "Back room, stat!" he hollered, loud enough for others to hear, but quiet enough so it wouldn't breach the shattered windows. Stuffing the newspaper article into his cargo pants pocket, he placed his hand at the crook of the barkeep's elbow. "C'mon," he said, not allowing for argument.

Slowly the remaining bar patrons shuffled into the backroom as Flint held the swinging doors open. When he was sure no one was left in the dining area, he closed the doors, stilling their motion from their habitual swinging. He glanced around what was left of the kitchen to find it mostly still in tact. "They'll be coming soon," he muttered to his teammates. "We can't risk a confrontation, not now. We have to hide."

"Flint," Scarlett began to question.

"No time, Red," he answered. "Listen up!" he shouted. "Find any place out of sight to hide! Chances are, they'll only glance in here." Scanning the room, he clenched his jaw as no one moved. "Now!" he yelled, to great effect. The civilians littered about the kitchen began shuffling around, looking for any place available to hide.

"I hope you're right about this," Lifeline muttered, picking a spot just beside the stovetop to crouch behind.

Flint cast his gaze through the plastic oval window of one of the kitchen doors. He noticed the flashlights getting closer, and he watched until they pointed in the direction of the bar. Turning away from the door, he glanced back into the kitchen. "No matter what happens," he hollered in a loud hush, "don't come out from your hiding spot. It may mean your life!"

Quickly, Flint lunged into the cooler, careful not to let it shut behind him. He kept the door open just a crack, so he could watch what the flashlight bearers would do. Silently, he watched as blue-clad soldiers peered into the kitchen, and held his breath as they scanned the room.

Someone sneezed. Flint tightened his eyes, and could only watch as one of the soldiers came barreling forward, grabbing the sneezing offender by his arm. It was the cook.

"Hold him," another soldier called. "Are there more?" he demanded of the cook, who was paralyzed with fear.

The cook's eyes darted wildly about, but he shook his head no.

The soldier glanced at his comrade holding the captive. "His eyes," he said.

With a slight nod, the man holding the cook held the captive's head toward the soldier in charge. That trooper took what appeared to be a pen light from his belt and shone it into the cook's eyes.

After a moment, the cook went slack.

After another moment, the captive stood straight and began walking toward the door, much like the other patrons had before.

The troopers turned to scan the rest of the kitchen with their flashlights. Satisfied, the Cobra trooper in charge called out to leave and move on to the next building.

After a few moments, Flint emerged from the refrigerator. Motioning to the rest in the room to stay down, he cautiously approached the swinging kitchen door and peered outside.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, but was really only a few minutes, Flint was satisfied. "You can come out now," he called out softly. "But stay quiet," he added.

Gradually, one by one, the barkeep and patrons and emerged from their hiding spots with varying degrees of shock and surprise registering on their faces.

"What the hell was that?" the waitress who had stood behind the bar demanded, shocked at seeing her cook disappear into the night.

Flint cast her a wary glance, but waited until Scarlett, Roadblock, and Lifeline emerged from their spots. "Cobra," he said with disgust. He placed his hands on his hips and the thoughts of what to do began swirling around in his mind.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Salt and pepper shakers, glasses, and ketchup bottles lay shattered across tabletops, their contents spilled unceremoniously at the mysterious blue light that had abruptly ended an otherwise normal evening. The barkeep cast a wary glance toward the stoic Flint, then turned to pick up a push broom. She exchanged a few soft words with one of the patrons, and the two silently began cleaning off tables in a section at the back of the bar. They worked silently, pulling more tables into the area. Eventually, a meeting place took shape.

With a meaningful glance and a nod of his head, Flint once again silently directed Roadblock and Scarlett to keep watch out of the front of the building to ensure the Cobra soldiers wouldn't be back. He watched quietly as the barkeep finally set aside her broom and slid from patron to patron, talking to them softly and directing them to the newly cleaned tables. Periodically, she glanced at the Warrant Officer, as if waiting for him to address those now gathered in the small alcove. Flint had to admit, she and her friend had made short work of most of the debris.

Content with the watch out front, Flint turned to face the small group of people gathered around the tables. He knew that if they had any chance of surviving, he needed to establish himself as their leader. He hoped his actions thus far started them down that path, but getting them to trust him was another thing entirely. Still, he _was_ a leader. And he would do everything in his power to keep these people safe. He glanced at Lifeline, who returned a small nod of support. It was time. "My name is Flint," he said calmly, addressing those gathered. He glanced around at Roadblock, Scarlett, and Lifeline. "The four of us are elite military personnel."

A small murmur broke out amongst the people, and Flint raised his hands to hush them. "We're going to keep you safe," he said, calling out above the clamor. "But we need your cooperation."

The barkeep stood sharply. "Are you gonna start by telling us what the hell's going on?" she asked, voicing the thought on everyone's minds.

Flint eyed her warily. "We don't know," he answered simply. As the small group began conversing at his admission, again, he attempted to assuage their fears. "Please, keep your voices down," he said.

"You," Flint said not unkindly, glancing at the barkeep. "What's your name?"

"She doesn't have to answer to you," someone else called, rising from his chair. Flint recognized him as one of the men who had been sitting at the bar, and as the one who had helped clean up the area in which they were all now gathered.

"Oh for god's sake, Pete," the waitress scoffed, before Flint could respond. "He's just asking my name."

Pete glanced sharply at the woman, effectively silencing her. He turned back to face Flint. "I can see you're military," Pete said, noting the uniform. "What proof you have that you're elite military?" he asked with a slight uptick of his head.

'Alpha-male,' Flint silently mused, assessing this Pete and taking note at how the rest of the patrons quietly watched the exchange. With a small sigh, Flint produced his dogtags. "Hopefully this will be enough."

Pete didn't know what the various markings on the dogtags meant, but thumbed them in consideration. "Dashiel?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at the Warrant Officer in disbelief.

"It's Flint," Dash said meaningfully, taking the tags back from Pete. "That's Scarlett, Roadblock and Lifeline," he added, indicating the rest of the team. Flint sent mental thanks for the foresight to make sure the team wore their uniforms that day, but it was small consolation as they had no weapons, not even back at the hotel. Once he determined Pete's line of questioning had ended, Flint glanced back at the barkeep.

"I'm Miriam," she said finally, stepping closer to Flint. "I own the place." She glanced around at the disarray. "Well," she said with a slight chuckle of self-defeat. "I guess I owned the place. Most of these folks," she added, glancing back at the group, "are regulars."

Flint nodded in her direction, his eyes softening in thanks. He looked over to Scarlett, and content that she was still keeping watch, he looked back over the group. "We're going to have to hang tight here for a little while," he said, as murmurs began all around him again. "At least until we get a handle on the situation."

One of the other patrons eyed Flint with a look of disgust in his eyes. "We all have family we need to check on," he said, a challenge in his eyes.

"You ain't got no family, Johnny," Miriam hollered to the patron, garnering a chuckle from Pete. Johnny's face reddened at the retort. "Still," she said, glancing at Flint. "He's right. Most these folks have people to check on."

Flint considered the exchange, but knew that for any of the civilians to leave the building now, they'd likely wind up much the same as the cook. Finally, he addressed the group. "I assure you," he said, "we will work through this together. And in time," he added, a little louder, "we will do everything we can to make contact with others. Until then, we need to stay low, stay quiet, and stay calm."

Inwardly, Flint breathed a sigh of relief as he noticed Miriam and Pete give him slight nods of approval. None of them would be safe, he thought, if they couldn't maintain some semblance of peace amongst them. After a minute, Flint turned his attention back to his team. "Scarlett. Lifeline," he called out. The two looked at him expectantly. "Recon."

Quietly, the three of them convened away from the small meeting area to talk about the mission. As Flint was about to send them off into the dark New York night, he noticed Pete approach. He sucked in his breath, waiting.

"Please," Pete said carefully, knowing he was interrupting the meeting. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a badge. "NYPD," he said. "I want to help."

Flint sized the man up, and finally understood the why behind Pete's previous alpha stance. He also knew he needed allies in this group of agitated civilians, and realized by their actions alone, Pete and Miriam would emerge as those allies and leaders. Flint fought a short battle with himself, knowing full well that in order to gain the trust of the civilians, he would have to trust them. Finally, he cast a quick glance to Scarlett, and caught her slight nod.

"Can you take orders?" he asked, meeting Pete's eyes.

"Yes sir," Pete responded.

"How much have you had to drink?"

Pete laughed off the suggestion.

Flint grabbed Pete's arm roughly and pulled him aside, out of earshot of the others. "Look," he said sternly, his eyes boring into Pete. "We need all the help we can get, but every move is critical. One wrong step, and we're all toast."

Pete shook off Flint's arm, and refused to cower. He stood up tall, straightened his shirt, and met Flint's gaze. "I know this city like the back of my hand," he said. "And like you said, you need me. And you need Miriam to help keep these civilians in line." His words got the desired effect, as he noticed Flint relax his stance just a tad. "You want recon, send me. I can get you radios, weapons, and gear. And if needed," he added, casting a quick glance outside, "I can help get us out of the city."

Again, Flint sized the man up. Every move _was_ critical, but he could tell from Pete's demeanor that the man was not taking the situation lightly. It was a risk, but he also knew Pete was right.

"How much have you had to drink," Flint repeated, this time much more civilly.

Pete visibly relaxed, and even managed a slight smile. "Not much, I assure you."

Flint sighed. Taking his beret off, he ran his hand through his hair, and again glanced back at Scarlett. The red head had again taken up watch, keeping an eye on the streets outside. Replacing his beret, he nodded, and led Pete back to her.

"Do you have a weapon?" Flint asked the police officer.

Pete held open his jacket and flashed his sidearm for Flint to see, his back to the rest of the civilians. The Warrant Officer held out his hand, asking for the piece. Pete glanced at him dubiously, closing his jacket.

"This is recon only. Observation," Flint said, his tone unwavering. "Until I can be certain you're not going off half-cocked looking to play hero and getting us all killed in the process, I'll be taking your piece while you're out there."

Pete scoffed, but Flint would not waver. As he glanced at Scarlett, Pete could tell that she agreed with he who appeared to be in command of the small unit. Finally, reluctantly, Pete handed over the weapon.

Flint wasted no time. He took the weapon and slid it into the back of his pants, sparing a small look of gratitude toward Pete. "Scarlett's your point."

Pete nodded.

Flint called Lifeline back over to them. The four of them went through some basic hand signals and directions, ensuring that the three leaving the bar area were all on the same page.

"Remember," Flint said. "Recon only. Do not draw attention to yourselves, and do not jeopardize our location."

It was standard protocol for recon missions, but Scarlett knew it was Flint's way of reinforcing the imperative to Lifeline, who had never done this sort of thing, but being a pacifist was perfect for it. She glanced at Pete, knowing he was the wildcard.

As the group readied themselves to head out the door, Miriam approached. "Pete," she called out quietly.

Pete turned to look at her, a small smile at the corners of his mouth despite the severity of the situation he knew they were all in.

"Be careful," Miriam said simply, brushing a small speck of imaginary dirt from his jacket shoulder.

Pete nodded, his eyes lingering on her. "I gotta go," he said after a moment, breaking the small gaze between the two. He glanced back at Scarlett, indicating he was ready.

Silently, the three slipped through the doors. Two military elite, and one of New York's finest.

* * *

><p><strong>.<strong>

**A/N:** So, it's been a while, hasn't it? As I said at the beginning of Chapter 1, time is a luxury we can't all afford. Still, I didn't mean to leave people hanging. Part of it's a matter of organization—I really wanted to take the time to sit down with what I already have and organize what's next into something a little more…well, organized. I haven't really been able to do that yet, and reading back, I realize I probably should have even reorganized what's already been posted. But, c'est la vie, right? Water under the bridge. I do think this chapter is what logically should go next though. I have a lot of planning to do for this story, so I'm not sure when my next update will be, but know I'm working on it. Thanks for reading and possibly reviewing. Constructive criticism always welcome.


	15. Of Obliviousness and Awareness

**Of Obliviousness and Awareness.**

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><p>"Will you shut your damned yap already," Beachhead hollered to the sailor. Shipwreck had begun singing, and had made his way through "The Sloop Jon B," "Drunken Sailor," and "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald." Twice.<p>

"Squawk! Shut your yap, shut your yap!" Polly called from her flight pattern.

Beachhead raised his arms in disgust, as Shipwreck managed to stop his pace and smile innocently back at the Ranger.

"What," he hollered back at Beachhead. "You don't like my singin'?"

Beachhead began muttering under his balaclava, wracking his brain on how to regain control of this survival training mission.

"Lady Jaye! Shipwreck! Drop your packs!" he hollered.

Lady Jaye glared at Shipwreck. "Now you've done it," she muttered, dropping her pack.

"Oh look," Beachhead said sarcastically, "we're out of water. Go find some."

Shipwreck and Lady Jaye glared at Beachhead. "We're in a desert," Shipwreck said, as if he was pointing out the obvious.

"Yeah, and desert survival means knowing how to look for water," Beachhead shouted back. "Leave your canteens."

"A veritable oasis," Lady Jaye muttered, checking for her knife on her belt. She stalked off in the opposite direction of Shipwreck.

* * *

><p>General Clayton Abernathy, or Hawk as he was known, sat quietly behind his desk, his hands pressed together near his mouth, a mark of a man in deep thought. He didn't turn on the computer. He wracked his brain as to the recent comings and goings of his personnel, and wondered at what he considered a failure. The silent hallways at the PIT were a constant reminder of just how close they had come to total annihilation.<p>

Sure, he mused, it wasn't annihilation, as anyone would associate as such. He had watched as some of the men and women under his command wandered aimlessly into the night, victims of some sort of mind control device. He had scanned the contents of the hangar, exposed aircraft with glass shattered, exposed vehicles with windows broken.

Cobra. Of that, he had no doubt. The PIT was close enough to civilization for him to know that their lack of immunity was an accident as opposed to a targeted event.

With a sigh, he opened up his phone and paged Snake Eyes. He didn't know where the United States of America's intelligence had failed, but that didn't mean they were paralyzed. No, if anything, Hawk was selected for this position because he was a master planner, able to shift with the tides, regardless of how severe the situation may seem. Their intelligence may have failed on some level or another, but Hawk was the type of man who pressed on regardless of the odds. And he would do just that.

Mentally, Abernathy checked off his teams on away missions. Beachhead, Lady Jaye, and Shipwreck were likely safe in Death Valley, though also likely, completely unaware of the situation at hand. And, the general thought grimly, he simply couldn't risk sending Wild Bill to their rendezvous point, even if he had the airpower intact to go get them.

Flint, Scarlett, Lifeline, and Roadblock were in New York. Duke, in San Francisco. Surely, those teams were affected, though there was no way of knowing their situations.

Cover Girl, Clutch, and other repair technicians were already hard at work repairing their vehicles, ground, air, and otherwise. Some were spared, but not enough. Regardless, they'd quickly run out of fuel reserves unless dire actions were taken. With a cold determination, Hawk knew there was only one thing left to do - initiate Protocol X. It was built for such a time as this, and he knew if his teams were safe, they'd know what to do and where to go.

With a final thought, Hawk sent a silent prayer to anyone who was listening, and waited patiently for Snake Eyes to arrive.


	16. A Plan Brought to Light

**A World Without Heroes, Chapter 16: A Plan Brought to Light.**

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><p>The etching of the Cobra emblem in the glass of the sleek black table in the command room at Cobra headquarters seemed to glow with the advent of the Commander's latest plan. The Baroness dismissed the thought though, as she set her cup of coffee on the table, not bothering to use a coaster. She thumbed through the Cobra file, preparing for their meeting, glancing up as other Cobra elite shuffled in, each accompanied by their own little entourage of guards. Destro took a seat next to the Baroness and glanced at her with a smug smile.<p>

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Cobra Commander called as he entered the room, his arms spread wide in victory. "And lady," he said, offering the Baroness a mock bow. He picked up a remote control off the table and sat in the chair at the head of the group, clicking a button. A monitor screen behind the Commander flickered. "Major Bludd will be joining us by tele-conference." Next to the monitor was an LED map of the United States, with dots of various colors lighting up different areas.

The Commander glanced around at the occupants of the table as their idle chatter began to dissipate. To his right, Zartan, Dr. Mindbender, and Tamox sat, and to his left, the Baroness, Destro and Xamot. Storm Shadow stood ever present, just behind the Commander.

"I trust you've all had time to look over the information in your folders?" the Commander asked, noting that Zartan hadn't even picked his up.

The master of disguise merely nodded at Cobra Commander, and watched the screen as Major Bludd's face appeared.

"Ah, Major Bludd," Cobra Commander said. "Nice of you to join us. Now we can begin. Please pick up your folders."

Zartan left his on the table.

"It's not like him," Tamox whispered across the table to his brother.

"To be so organized," Xamot finished with a chuckle.

"You see, Tamox and Xamot," Commander said, overhearing the twins. He stood from his chair, the remote held in his hands. "We're on the verge of conquest," he finished dramatically.

The room's occupants barely stirred.

Undeterred, Cobra Commander continued. "If you look at the map in front of you, the blue lights on the map indicate all known military bases in the United States. Major Bludd?"

"Yes Commander," Major Bludd responded. The screen flickered for a moment, before stabilizing again. "All persons affected by the devices were programmed to check-in at the nearest military base."

"And the troops at the military bases?" Destro asked.

"Dear Destro," Cobra Commander said condescendingly. "Those bases were part of the original device deployments."

Destro nodded thoughtfully, and waited for the Commander to continue.

"Continue with your update, Major Bludd," the Commander said, turning his attention back to the screen.

Major Blood issued a command to someone off screen, then turned his attention back to the meeting. "Yes, well," he began. "All of the Viper squadron commanders have reached their respective bases, and training of the new troops," he said with a chuckle, "has begun. More arrive by the minute."

"Brilliant!" Cobra Commander shouted, gesticulating wildly into the air. "Now we move on to phase two of my master plan."

"Which is?" Zartan asked, bored.

Cobra Commander eyed Zartan, and mentally reminded himself that the rogue operative wasn't used to such meetings. "Dr. Mindbender," he said glancing at the scientist. "Prepare new devices for the smaller populated areas not hit by the original launch." He punched a button, and red dots appeared on the screen. "Deploy as soon as they're ready."

"Yes, Commander," Mindbender responded.

Cobra Commander turned back to the screen. "Major Bludd," he said. "Have Wild Weasel commence air operations. Primary objective- to secure air space. Secondary objective- to identify targets that slipped through the cracks. Travelers, small towns, and so on."

"I will have him begin immediately," Major Bludd responded.

"Zartan," Cobra Commander said, turning to the mercenary. "Coordinate directly with Wild Weasel and Dr. Mindbender. By any means necessary," he said, drawing out the ss's, "ensure the newly identified targets are …neutralized."

A small smile graced Zartan's face. "My Dreadnoks aren't enough to cover the expanse of the United States," he said confidently. "But with a squadron of Vipers for each of them," he added, "we will take care of it."

"Then consider it done," Cobra Commander said, without missing a beat. He turned his attention to Destro. "I take it the extra weapons and vehicles are on schedule?"

"Indeed they are," Destro responded, a rare smile emerging. "But I imagine you will take full advantage of weapons already at your disposal," he said, indicating the military bases alight on the LED map.

Cobra Commander laughed. "Yes, Destro. Major Bludd is using American military weapons for the training as we speak." He turned to face the Baroness. "Dear Baroness," he said. "Your job, as you know, is to monitor communications. Find out what you can about any military activity we may have missed, and," he said, a smile forming beneath his silver mask. "Ensure our worldly friends across the oceans remain unawares."

The Baroness titled her head in acknowledgement, her brain already furiously working away at the best ways to intercept communication and mimic the responses allies from abroad would expect to hear. She'd already been working with Dr. Mindbender to understand the device modifications, and how they'd impact ports and air control. It was imperative to ensure that to international entities, everything operated as normal. Inwardly, she smiled to herself, all port authorities, air-traffic controllers, and the like would still be under their spell.

"And you, Commander," the Baroness said slyly. "When do you address the masses?"

The Commander chuckled inwardly, knowing that when he was finished, there wouldn't be many masses to address. "When America and her allies are in our control," he said finally. "It's only a matter of time. A new world order is beginning, my friends. And soon, we shall rule the world!"

Maniacal laughter erupted in the room, emanating from those gathered around the table, led by the masked man at the head of the table.

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><p><strong>AN: **Hello, faithful readers. Rest assured, I've not forsaken this story. Life is as life does, eh? I'm working on it. Constructive criticism always welcome. Note: I'm getting a lot of about:blank errors when trying to log in, upload, and edit. Hopefully everything's coming through ok.


	17. Awakening

**A World Without Heroes, Chapter 17: Awakening.**

_Somewhere in Death Valley…_

"Beachhead to Wild Bill, come in Wild Bill, over." The radio crackled with transmission, but again, nothing came through. "Beachhead to Wild Bill, come in Wild Bill, over."

With a sigh, Beachhead sat unceremoniously to the ground. He had been squatting for a while, twisting and turning around trying to get the best signal he possibly could, to no avail. They made the rendezvous point at the appointed time, and that was nearly four hours ago. There was no sign of the chopper, and no response on the radio. He glanced at the two in his charge, and groaned inwardly as the two attempted to play some kind of fetch with a parrot and some crackers.

He picked up the radio once again. "Beachhead to Wild Bill, come in Wild Bill, over." Still nothing. He watched silently as Lady Jaye broke from the game and started walking over toward him.

"Anything?" she asked, though she knew the answer just by observing him. The signal was likely lost in the barren desert, with no one on the receiving end.

Beachhead shook his head, and glanced to the western sky, noting the low hanging sun. "Looks like we'll have to make camp again. Lady Jaye," he said, meeting her eyes. "You've got the pit tonight."

As Beachhead rose, Lady Jaye sighed. It wasn't like the Joes to be late for rendezvous points, but it also wasn't unheard of when it came to training missions. Sometimes, the powers that be held a few surprises of their own up their sleeves.

As Beachhead stalked off to stow the radio and look for fuel for a fire, Lady Jaye started digging a fire pit.

"Wreck!" she called, having already made her first dig into the desert sand. At the sailor's wave, she knew he'd be off looking for some kindling.

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><p><em>Meanwhile, in San Francisco….<em>

The lone souls on Alcatraz realized quickly that the island wasn't built for comfort. They slept where they could, ate what they could, and all the while, kept their eyes on the mainland around them. All around the island, movement had come to a halt. There were no more visitors to the tourist attraction, and only a few seagulls kept them company as they tried to assess the situation. The radio remained silent, and they only again attempted to contact others just that morning, to no avail. They tried different frequencies, different strengths, everything they could think of. They'd also tried to find out through the internet any information they could, but news sites gleaned only fluff pieces, and nothing new appeared in terms of governmental action. It was an off-kilter search on the heels of what they had witnessed, and a bad feeling settled in Duke's gut.

"Protocol X," Duke whispered finally, the vision of parachuting troops over mainland San Francisco fresh in his mind.

"What?" the General asked, more harshly than he intended.

"Protocol X," Duke repeated more fully.

The General glanced at Duke warily, not understanding.

Conrad Hauser sighed. "We're about find out just how decommissioned G.I. Joe really is," he said matter-of-factly, pulling out the chair in front of the computer.

General McNally watched as Duke sat down and began digging into the framework of the computer's operating system. He didn't understand what Duke was doing, but he watched.

"Gather up any supplies you can," Duke said after a moment, not breaking his gaze from the computer screen. "Gasoline, food, water, anything you can find that will fit in that boat outside."

The General didn't move.

"General," Duke said, finally glancing up from his work.

"Right," the General said, catching Duke's pointed look. "Supplies."

The general didn't understand what Duke was doing, but judging by the sergeant's demeanor and unconventional actions, it suddenly became crystal clear to him why there were Joes, and why Conrad Hauser was one of them. He wasn't used to taking orders from a subordinate, but if they made it through this mess, the general swore to himself he'd be first in line to defend the necessity of an elite unit like G. I. Joe. Apparently, not all of the military was caught flat-footed.

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><p><em>Back in Death Valley…<em>

The three Joes walked on. The survival-training mission quickly became less training and more survival as they realized Wild Bill wouldn't be coming for them. After scanning the map, they realized the best thing for them to do would be to head for the road that would lead them to the visitor's center in the middle of Death Valley. It wasn't an easy route and it took some time, but they made camp where they could, and kept a decent pace. Along the way, they scrounged for water where they could, and rationed what little of the precious resource they had.

As they finally neared the road, Beachhead called out. "Check your stores," he said.

"Full," Lady Jaye responded, replacing the lid on her canteen.

"Half," Shipwreck called out.

"Beach?" Lady Jaye asked, knowing the Ranger hadn't mentioned his.

Beachhead glanced at Lady Jaye. "Empty," he said finally.

The three Joes stood at the edge of the road, knowing their situation to be dire at best. The desert was desolate even at the height of the tourist season. Still, they knew travelers would be passing through, and it was their best hope at finding a way out of their situation.

Checking the map again, Beachhead glanced in the direction they were heading. "Well," he said finally, "we know we're going in the direction of the visitor's center."

There they could replenish water and find shelter from the elements. As it was, they were dreadfully low on water and food. It was a training mission, meant to tax their resolve, but leave them with enough. When they realized the training mission had somehow turned into real survival, the circumstances of their supplies meant they had to act fast.

"Here comes a car!" Shipwreck hollered from his position at the rear of the group.

It was a beacon, Beachhead knew. He glanced at Jaye, and they both knew the importance of hitching a ride. The three moved into triangular formation on the road, Shipwreck at point, Lady Jaye and Beachhead even at the rear.

Before they knew it, Shipwreck had to dive to the side, as the oncoming truck did not stop. Beachhead and Lady Jaye held their positions as long as they could, but they too had to dive off to the side.

Their efforts weren't for naught though, as the once oncoming truck, now well beyond them, came to a screeching halt in the road. The Joes scrambled to their cast aside packs and ran to the truck.

"Mister," Beachhead called. "The American government couldn't thank you enough."

The man's eyes were wild, and did not acknowledge Beachhead's utterances. "Climb in back. Now," he said.

As it was, Beachhead had barely made it into the bed of the pickup truck before the man took off again, hellbent for what they hoped would be the visitor's center.

* * *

><p>"What the hell is going on here?" Beachhead barked to the man as they entered the Death Valley visitor's center.<p>

They had deduced from the truck that the man was a ranger, further confirmed by the uniform he was wearing. The air conditioning hit them like a wall of relief as they stormed in after the man. Lady Jaye immediately took the canteens to fill them up in the washroom.

"You don't know?" the man asked, turning to face the masked soldier in front of him.

Beachhead shook his head no.

The man motioned for Beachhead to follow him. Beach glanced back at Shipwreck, indicating with his eyes that the sailor should watch where they're going, but maintain connection with Lady Jaye as well.

Beachhead and the ranger entered one of the back rooms of the visitor's center, and the man began firing up the computer. "We're under attack," he said, as they continued to watch the monitor. When nothing happened, when the internet browser wouldn't load and he assumed the Ethernet connection wouldn't fire, he glanced at Beachhead. "All major cities, all of them," he said, shaking his head, "incapacitated. The residents, gone."

As Lady Jaye rejoined the group, full canteens in hand, she shared a glance with Shipwreck. She'd overheard the man's utterances.

Beachhead remained impassive, as he began to take in the information this man was giving them. "What do you mean?" he asked finally.

The ranger glanced at Beachhead and then at Shipwreck and Lady Jaye, but didn't answer. "You're military," he finally asked, noting their uniforms, which were, by this time covered with a scratchy mixture of sand and sweat.

Beachhead nodded.

"Then you have to do something!" he shouted, flying up out of his chair. The man was frantic, and Beachhead spared a look toward Shipwreck and Lady Jaye.

"Talk to us," Lady Jaye said, calmly approaching the man. "Tell us what you know."

"They, they they," the man stuttered, leaning against the computer table. He buried his face in his hands.

Lady Jaye placed her hand on his in a comforting gesture.

"It was some kind of device," he said finally. "I don't know what, but it shattered the glass and made them go away."

"Made who go away?" Shipwreck asked.

"All of them!" the man shouted. "Anyone caught in its path. They just…." he paused, disbelief clouding his eyes. "…walked away," he finished quietly with a sob.

* * *

><p>As time passed, Beachhead, Shipwreck, and Lady Jaye were able to coax out of the frantic ranger everything they could, and finally convened together in the main room of the visitor's center.<p>

"Either this guy's completely delusional…" Shipwreck said, none of them wanting to finish the sentence.

"We have to take him at his word," Beachhead said finally, knowing now that the absence of Wild Bill at the rendezvous point was more than a coincidence.

Lady Jaye nodded. "He was frantic. I don't think delusions would cloud a ranger. Not like that."

Beachhead nodded thoughtfully. "So we head east. Try to make contact with anyone else out there."

"You think he's gonna let us have his truck?" Shipwreck asked doubtfully.

Lady Jaye glanced up at the door to the backroom. "I don't think he has much of a choice. He could come with us," she suggested.

Suddenly, they heard a gunshot coming from the backroom. It was quick, brutal, and as the three Joes were about to discover, fatal. They broke off into a run to the office, only to find that the man had shot himself, splattering the contents of his head all over the corner of the room.

Lady Jaye flinched at seeing the gruesome nature of the suicide. Shipwreck leaned against the computer table, and Beachhead stood impassive, casting his hardened eyes over the scene.

The severity of the man's actions combined with what they had learned from him just a few moments earlier sank into the three. "Until we can confirm otherwise," Beachhead said bleakly, but with purpose. "We're now operating under Protocol X."

"Understood, sir," came the response from Lady Jaye. It was a simple acknowledgement that order, though never lost with the Joes, was firmly in place, and that Beachhead was leading this mission.

Shipwreck made eye contact with Beachhead, the grim acknowledgement held in his eyes.

"Lady Jaye, see if you can root that computer," Beachhead said after a moment. "Shipwreck, help me move the body." He picked the offending gun up off the floor, checked the clip, and tucked it in the back of his pants. "Then we'll go through the grounds and see what we can salvage."

Protocol X was something they all knew, but hoped to never come to pass. Hawk had devised it with the upper echelons of G.I. Joe in the case of a catastrophic event. It was designed knowing troops were often scattered throughout the country and the world, and concentrated on making contact, avoiding detection, and convening at a central location. It was all spelled out the best they could on paper, but left open to improvisation due to the unknown variable that would be the cause of the catastrophic event. None of it was actually written down. Rather, it was ingrained in the minds of the Joes who had been battle-tested and loyalty driven, the ones who time and time again put their nation first and their own interests far below the pecking order.

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><p><strong>AN:** _Disclaimer: I own nothing. _

Hello faithful readers. I thank you wholeheartedly for the reviews. I'm trying to give you a little bit more in this chapter, to keep the chapter longer and interesting, but I must confess, we're starting to reach a point where I simply have to start writing again. Though I don't want to make any promises, I'm hoping I can start picking up the pace a little bit with updates. I have lots of ideas in my brain and lots of little sections written out, but it's time to start piecing them together. If something seems out of whack, or the timeline doesn't seem right between the groups, by all means, call me out on it. It's an ambitious project that, as I stated way back at the beginning, is nowhere close to completion. Again, time is a luxury we can't all afford.

As a side note, I watched G. I. Joe: Retaliation tonight. While Joe was a decent plot device for an ok action movie, it was not Joe. Not at all. THAT was Flint? Really?

I'm still getting a lot of about:blank errors. Anyone know anything about that?


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